Broken Pieces
by Rhea Silverkeys
Summary: Written before Deathly Hallows. “He may not believe in the purity of blood anymore, but how much can he change?” Draco Malfoy, redeemed? Not quite. It isn't easy to leave behind everything you've been taught...
1. Prologue: Vow, Fulfilled

**A/N: Well, it's been a long time. I'm rewriting Broken Pieces and reposting under this pen-name, so if the story sounds familiar to you, this is to let you know that it isn't plagiarism. I'm all geared up to continue and hope I won't disappoint anyone.**

**Please take note that I began this story before Deathly Hallows came out, so it is AU from the sixth book onwards. I incorporate as much canon background and characterisation as I can, however.  
**

**The prologue is set just after Snape and Draco Disapparate off Hogwarts grounds. The italics in front are taken from the book, to refresh your memory, in a way.**

**Enjoy reading, and please review!**

**Prologue: Vow, Fulfilled **

_There was silence. Harry stood imprisoned within his own invisible, paralysed body, staring at the two of them, his ears straining to hear sounds of the Death Eaters' distant fight, and in front of him, Draco Malfoy did nothing but stare at Albus Dumbledore who, incredibly, smiled._

"_Draco, Draco, you are not a killer._"

* * *

"_Let us discuss your options, Draco._"

"_My options!" said Malfoy loudly. "I'm standing here with a wand – I'm about to kill you –_"

"_My dear boy, let us have no more pretence about that. If you were going to kill me, you would have done it when you first Disarmed me, you would not have stopped for this pleasant chat about means and ways._"

"_I haven't got any options!_"_ said Malfoy, and he was suddenly as white as Dumbledore. _"_I've got to do it! He'll kill me! He'll kill my whole family!_"

* * *

Draco let Snape lead the way, his mind blissfully blank, unthinking, as they hurried through the undergrowth of the forest. He seemed incapable of thought, mind numb from the murder he had just witnessed. Snape said nothing to him, but hurried through the increasingly sparse trees. Both of them had Apparated into the forest after getting out of Hogwarts grounds, and they were alone.

It was on the outskirts on the forest that Snape stopped, turned and regarded Draco. His beady black eyes searched the blond carefully.

"So you couldn't do it," Snape said finally.

Draco opened his mouth to say that he could have, if he'd been given the time, but he couldn't say it. He saw, in his mind's eye, Dumbledore, flying through the air and disappearing as he tumbled down. Dumbledore, extending a helping hand, even though it wouldn't keep him safe…was there any way he could escape the Dark Lord? Not when his family were involved…

He turned away from Snape. There was a village nearby; he could see the houses, and the road leading to them. "What's going to happen? I failed. He – he's going to…" his voice trembled. "He'll kill me."

"I made a vow to your mother that I'd keep you safe," Snape said, eyeing Draco very carefully. "Do you know what that means?"

Draco looked at him. "_He'll_ know you did it."

"Not if I said you escaped. Disapparated right after we got here. I didn't know you could Apparate." Snape stepped closer to him. "Tell me what happened before I came."

_Snape's helping me. Just like Dumbledore wanted to…but he killed Dumbledore. He _killed_ him. He's on the Dark Lord's side._

_But he's helping me._

"I'll not give you to the Dark Lord. It means sure death for me," Snape said, when Draco did not answer.

"If you help me escape, and he finds out, he'll kill you."

"_If_ he finds out. He won't. Now, tell me exactly what happened on the Astronomy tower."

Draco told him, watching for Snape's reaction to his words. He told him about getting up there, and finding Dumbledore weakened. Draco thought he saw something flicker in Snape's eyes when he said this, but then it was gone and his eyes were the same as before; black, beady, intent. Draco told him about the conversation they'd had, about Dumbledore trying to help him, when there was no way he could.

"And would you have taken the Order's help, if you could?" Snape asked softly.

"What difference would it make?" Draco said bitterly. "He'll find me. And mother."

"Would you have taken it?"

Draco hesitated. "I wanted to. But Dumbledore was probably lying, anyway," he dismissed with a wave of his hand. "He didn't want me to kill him, that's all." And he saw Dumbledore again, flying through the air, and the flash of green light.

"No," Snape said quietly. "He wasn't afraid of death."

"He couldn't help me. You can't. No one can," Draco said, staring at the ground. _He wanted to help me._

"Come." And Snape set off on a brisk walk towards the village. Draco followed. "Where are we going?" he asked.

"Somewhere safe," Snape replied shortly.

They arrived at the village and continued onwards until they arrived at a small house with a thatched roof. The garden was full of flowers and a television aerial poked up from the roof. Snape strode right up to the front door and knocked.

It opened, slowly, revealing a woman that resembled Narcissa Malfoy, except that she had dark hair, instead of blond. "What –?"

"Do you remember the talk we had?" Snape asked quickly. The woman nodded, comprehension dawning on her face as she saw Draco. Snape pushed him inside the house. "Narcissa will be here soon, if I can convince her. Find a good Secret Keeper." He turned to leave.

"Stay safe, Severus."

"I'll try, Andromeda," he said without looking back. And he hurried out of the village, cloak wrapped around him. The same scene played over and over again in his mind, Dumbledore falling over the ramparts, coupled with the words, _"When the time comes, kill me. Save Draco._"

* * *

-_END OF PROLOGUE-_

* * *

**A/N: Rather short but I hope you enjoyed that. Chapter 1 will be up soon and it is definitely longer.**

**Constructive criticism is welcome (if you didn't like my story, tell me why. If you liked it but thought some aspects could be improved, tell me what). Reviews in general are so welcome I'll give you cookies! (virtual ones of course)**


	2. Chapter 1: Visit to St Mungo's

**A/N: Thank you for the reviews! As promised, here's chapter 1. I couldn't leave you with such a short prologue for long. Hope you enjoy!  
**

**Chapter 1: Visit to St Mungo's  
**

He awoke with a start, and the book that had been in his hands fell to the floor. It took a while for his disorientated mind to register his surroundings; walls painted baby blue, a television set directly opposite him, comfortable chairs, the sofa he was sitting on, an elegant coffee table with fresh flowers in a vase on its glass top, a fireplace with picture frames on the mantle. It wasn't all Muggle, though – a feather duster was dusting the mantle by itself, the pictures were moving in their frames, and the statue in the corner was muttering to itself.

"If only Pansy could see me now," he said to himself bemusedly, bending down to pick up the fallen book. Draco Malfoy living with a Muggle-born and learning to use Muggle contraptions – just over a year ago it would have been laughable.

But a lot of things had changed. Circumstances had changed. _He'd _changed.

He hadn't wanted to, at first. Stubborn, as usual. He still was. But having grown up with a certain set of beliefs shared not only by his parents but most of the peers in his school House, he had been unwilling to discard them. He'd held on to those beliefs tightly when he'd first been forced into hiding, into living with his barely-mentioned Aunt Andromeda and her 'disgrace of a husband' (sniffed Narcissa) Ted Tonks.

It had taken a while. A long time for him to realize and stop denying that what he'd grown up with was wrong. When he'd finally done that (and it had taken many weeks and a few months) he'd finally been able to settle down in the (relatively) peaceful cottage that the Tonks lived in.

"Draco?"

The blond looked up. "Hey, Aunt Andy, Uncle Ted."

Aunt Andromeda, or rather, Aunt Andy as Draco was used to calling her, stood in the doorway next to her tall and rather skinny husband, Ted. Ted had unruly light brown hair, black rimmed glasses seated on a sharp nose and a mouth that was always ready to smile. Draco liked Ted immensely, despite his initial reaction towards him. And he was very grateful Ted had harboured no hard feelings for his earlier, very stupid behaviour.

"We're going to visit Nymphadora for a while," Aunt Andy told him. "We'll be back by dinner."

"Let me come too," Draco said immediately. "I want to see how she is." Nymphadora Tonks had been injured in a scuffle with Death Eaters just two days before. Although Lord Voldemort had been defeated more than a month ago, Death Eater activity was still strong. Most of the Death Eaters could never return to normal civil life and seemed to have decided to fight it out rather than go to Azkaban quietly. The Ministry was still trying to round them up and Tonks had been injured when her group of Aurors ambushed the hiding place of some Death Eaters.

Andy and Ted shared a look. Draco knew what was coming before his aunt even opened her mouth.

"I know the Death Eaters are still out there. But the Dark Lord isn't, and he's the one who wanted me, not them. I think right now the Death Eaters are more concerned for their own arses than some young wizard who went into hiding a year ago for not managing to kill Dumbledore himself," Draco interjected before Andy could speak.

"Draco, it still isn't safe. They could be targeting you, fulfilling one of their master's wishes that he couldn't do himself before Harry Potter killed him. You've stayed alive this long. Don't get yourself killed now."

"Yeah, who's going to help around the house and stock up on potions supplies if you die?" Ted joked. Draco had always been fond of potions, and once he'd gotten comfortable in the Tonks' household he'd taken to making various kinds in his free time – which translated to almost all the time, as he really had nothing better to do.

"I _really_ want to visit Tonks," Draco said. "And I'm going to be safe. It's St. Mungo's! The Death-Eaters aren't going to attack there, not when the Dark Lord isn't there to coordinate them. They're concentrating on keeping themselves alive and out of Azkaban right now."

In the end, Draco's stubbornness and sensible counter-arguments won Andy and Ted over. "Alright," Ted said. "You can come with us."

"Great! Now give me a second, I need to get something," Draco made for the stairs and leapt up them three at a time. He emerged in the living room again minutes later, tucking something into the pocket of his robes. "Alright, ready now."

Andy and Ted were already gathered around the fireplace. Draco hadn't yet taken his Apparition test (having been in hiding the past year) and though the two adults could Apparate themselves, they sometimes preferred taking the Floo Network.

"After you," Ted motioned to Draco.

He took a fistful of Floo powder, threw it in and stepped into the fireplace. Then he closed his eyes, shouted "St. Mungo's" and braced himself. He hadn't taken the Floo Network in over a year, but he still remembered the sensation and the ash and, above all, all the _dirt_ when he stepped out of the fireplace.

St. Mungo's was just as he remembered it. The reception area was full of patients waiting on chairs or in line for the welcome witch sitting at her counter. She, as usual, was looking bored. A man was sitting on a chair looking disconsolate, his head in the shape of a teapot, steam blowing out of his nostrils. Another girl was missing an arm, which Draco then saw to be attached at the end of her other arm, making her look very lopsided indeed.

Andy and Ted didn't need to go to the welcome witch. Having been there already the day before, they immediately took the lift to the fourth floor. _'Spell Damage'_, Draco read. It stirred something in his memory. _Of course. Longbottom's parents are here._ Draco wondered what Neville Longbottom was up to now. He'd never been, in his opinion, a very bright kid.

Tonks was housed in a rather cheery ward that had daisies everywhere. She was looking cheerful herself, and her hair was bubble-gum pink. She was seated, leaning against her pillow, and had bandages around her neck. She was conversing gaily with a man and as Draco, Andy and Ted neared Draco recognised him as Remus Lupin. If there was a pause in the young man's step it wasn't audible. Draco well remembered his former Defence Against the Dark Arts professor; he also remembered how much he'd tried to ridicule him.

"Mum, Dad, hi!" Tonks called out cheerily as the three neared. "And – Draco, I didn't know you were allowed out –"

"Convinced them," Draco let out a smile. "I've been stuck in the old dusty house for ages."

"And I suppose visiting me was just secondary, then?" Tonks asked, but her eyes were smiling.

"Oh, you may have played a small part in my decision to leave the house," Draco said nonchalantly.

Lupin got up from his chair. "Well, I'll leave you four alone." Tonks nodded, and Lupin kissed her on the cheek. He smiled at Andy and Ted, and gave Draco a small smile before leaving. Draco nodded shortly at him.

Draco and Tonks had formed a friendship as the last year passed by. They were now on very good terms; in fact, Draco had been very concerned when he'd heard about Tonks getting injured. He hadn't shown it, not openly, but he'd wanted to visit Tonks since day one.

He took out his present as soon as Lupin closed the door. "Here; enjoy."

Tonks gasped and took a delicate-looking vial from his hands. It fit snugly in the palm of her hand, and it was filled with a thick-looking liquid that seemed to change colour with motion, although if you looked closely at it the colours were predominantly pink. As she watched it changed from very light pink to yellow, then a deep red, deep pink, lavender purple and a different shade of pink again.

"Draco, it's beautiful," she beamed.

"I know it is," he smirked. "And I put an Unbreakable Charm on it, so if you drop it, it won't break." He knew, too, how clumsy his cousin was.

"What – how did you get this?"

"I made it," he said. "It's an Identifying Potion – called that because, as it comes into contact with different people, it shows a different predominant colour." To demonstrate, he took the vial from Tonks. Slowly the contents began to show more shades of red. "See? Well, some people will have the same predominant colour, but I think it's pretty cool anyway." He shrugged. "And if you leave it on the table the colours'll continue changing; they won't show any particular one."

"I love it," she grinned. "Thanks, cousin."

"No problem," he returned.

About half-an-hour later Draco declared he was thirsty; so he made his way up to the fifth floor's visitor's tearoom, where he poured himself a nice hot cup of tea. As he looked around the room, and the various friends and family members of the invalids of St. Mungo's, he found himself thinking about his mother.

Narcissa Malfoy. He hadn't heard from her in over a year. She'd refused to believe Snape when he told her about Draco and how she, too, could go into hiding – and Snape, in the end, had had to put a Memory Charm on her so the Dark Lord could not find out about his treachery. Draco missed his mother; he loved her very much, and her him. She could be affectionate enough when she wanted to, but Draco wasn't much for physical gestures, anyway.

He'd written a letter, a week ago, explaining everything. He hadn't been allowed, yet, to see her. She hadn't replied – not yet, Draco hoped. He hoped, too, that the owl hadn't gotten lost along the way (but Malfoy Manor wasn't very hard to find). Perhaps, after this week, he could see her, and he felt a swell of happiness within him. Perhaps the Ministry could arrange something, if he wasn't allowed to see her at the Manor. He wondered how she would react. His father was in jail, for life, the last he heard. He'd be the only thing left she had.

He was happily reconstructing a reunion with his mother in his head, sipping tea and feeling content, so that he hardly noticed a glum-looking black-haired boy and a shorter, equally glum-looking girl with bushy brown hair enter the visitor's tearoom. He _did_ notice, however, when the girl went to get a teabag, all the time in deep conversation with the boy beside her.

"Well, well, well," he said loudly, showing surprise. "If it isn't Potter and Granger!"

Hermione Granger and Harry Potter looked up, shock registering on their faces as they recognised a boy that they thought long dead.

"Malfoy?" Harry croaked.

"Surprised?" he said smugly. "Don't answer that, I can see it in your faces."

Hermione had clapped a hand over her mouth and was looking rather sick all of a sudden. Harry found his hand on hers, and he squeezed it a little before letting go.

"I…I…"

"Come on, Granger, spit it out, I haven't exactly got all day," Draco feigned boredom. "And you were so articulate when we were in Hogwarts."

It took Hermione a few moments to compose herself. Draco waited; he was interested to know what it was that could make her stammer so.

"I just went to your memorial service last Friday," she finally said, in a hushed voice, suddenly not daring to look him in the eye. "I saw them dig a grave and put your coffin inside."

* * *

_-END OF CHAPTER 1-_

* * *

**A/N: Teehee, I just _had_ to end with that. So what do you think so far? Please review :) it would mean so much to me. Constructive criticism is welcome.**


	3. Chapter 2: Memorial

**A/N: Sorry for the relatively late update, I'd planned to post this up during the weekend but some things got in the way. Anyway I hope you enjoy this chapter, sorry for leaving you on that memorial note for so long!**

**Big thanks to my beta, Tarquinius, for beta-ing for me!  
**

**Chapter 2: Memorial **

Draco could only stare at them. Hermione was looking at anything _but_ him, and Harry looked like he didn't know where he should place his eyes, either. Draco's mind was uncommonly blank. He just couldn't believe what he had just heard.

"What do you mean you went to my memorial service?" he finally asked.

Hermione braved herself to look at him. "Exactly what I said. I went to your memorial service," her voice grew quite soft, "and saw them put your coffin into the ground."

"But – but – why the hell would anyone give me a memorial service?" Draco spluttered, something uncommon for him – but then again, he'd never been this shocked. It wasn't everyday you found out the entire world thought you were dead.

Harry spoke for Hermione, trying to keep his voice even and neutral. "You've been missing for over a year, Malfoy. No one knew where you were or what happened to you the night you left Hogwarts."

"I guess," said Hermione in a small voice, "Your mother wanted to put some closure on the whole thing."

"Wait – _she_ planned the…the…the memorial service?" Hermione nodded slowly. "Oh, Merlin." Frustratingly, his mind was still drawing a complete blank. He ran a hand through his white-blond hair distractedly. "And this was last Friday?"

"Yes," Hermione confirmed. If she was surprised that Draco was speaking so civilly to her, she didn't show it. Perhaps she thought the shock of finding out everyone thought he was dead had distracted from the fact he was talking to a Muggle-born and Harry Potter.

Draco brought the teacup to his mouth and sipped. He hardly tasted the tea as it went down his throat. _I wrote a letter to her. I wrote her the letter before that…that memorial service. Surely she must have received it already?_

He felt sick, all of a sudden. He knew, before, how worried his mother would probably have been, with his disappearance. He'd asked Snape countless times, each time he saw the former Potions master, to try convincing his mother again. Each time Snape would try; each time he would fail. It was a pattern that continued until his final disappearance.

Now, this. His own mother believed him dead, had buried him (not physically, but emotionally) in a memorial service. She'd grieved (and was probably still grieving) for him. He couldn't imagine what she could have gone through, what she must be going through now. She thought she'd lost her only son; she thought he was dead.

It was all his fault. He'd caused her this suffering. If only they'd tried harder to make her see, if only _he'd_ tried harder. He should have sent more owls when the first one hadn't yet been answered. He should have tried contacting her himself, visited her, perhaps, so that she had to believe he was still alive and safe.

"Draco?" Harry asked tentatively; they'd never been on first name terms. Heck, before this, any encounter with Draco Malfoy would have resulted in wands out and insults hurled at each other. But Draco Malfoy didn't look remotely like the Draco Malfoy in earlier Hogwarts days; he looked shell-shocked, unguarded. And he'd greeted them earlier with surprise, yes, but without insults.

Harry couldn't forget the events on the Astronomy Tower in sixth year. Draco had plotted to kill Dumbledore, but Voldemort had forced him to, really. Did that forgive his actions? No, not really. But he understood to some extent why the younger Malfoy had done as he did, even if he didn't like it, even though it wasn't right. And Draco wouldn't have been able to kill Dumbledore himself, he was sure of it.

"I – I – I've got to go." Draco put his teacup on the table. "Thanks for telling me about…about the memorial service." He turned to leave. Harry and Hermione watched him go, Hermione biting her lip.

"Well," Harry said when the blond was long gone. "That was…something."

"It was," Hermione said faintly. "He's been in hiding all this time," she said wonderingly. "Even from his own mother."

"He'll be telling her soon," Harry supposed. "Are you alright? You were looking just now as if you'd seen a ghost."

"Well, imagine _you_ going to a memorial service and then bumping into whoever it is the memorial service was for!"

* * *

Hermione well remembered the day of the memorial service, not because it had been held for someone she cared about; rather, it was for the unpleasant experience and the feeling that, for the first time in her life, she didn't belong.

She had been reluctant to go in the first place. But no. She'd been Head Girl of his year; naturally, she'd be the representative of Hogwarts student body.

"I'd much rather they sent a Slytherin in my place," she'd sighed in complaint to Harry. "But they do have to follow such etiquette."

"I'm not sure that would be a good idea," Harry had said darkly. Most people, he knew, considered Draco a traitor for having failed Voldemort in killing Dumbledore. He doubted most of the Slytherins would have wanted to come and mourn for someone they believed to be a traitor.

The morning of the memorial service had opened bright and cheery. It was an ironic contrast, Hermione thought, to the mood that was sure to be in the service. She'd dressed all in black – black robes, black handbag. And then she'd Apparated to Malfoy Manor.

The grounds had been just as she'd expected them to be. She'd appeared just in front of the tall forbidding front gate of the estate, where visitors were being ushered in by Narcissa Malfoy and another woman, who looked, in Hermione's opinion, rather weedy. She had mousy brown hair and was sniffling a lot as she showed people in.

The mansion was situated a little way inside the grounds, looking every bit like the Victorian palace Draco had always boasted it was (she'd heard, many times, during shared classes with the Slytherins). The grounds, from what she could see, was full of flowers and bush, with an occasional tree littered about.

Hermione approached the gates cautiously. Even open, Hermione thought they looked menacing. Narcissa looked upon her askance. "You don't look like anyone I know, girl. This service is on an invitation-only basis."

"I'm…I'm representing Hogwarts' student body," Hermione said, her voice growing stronger with every word said. _That's right, you can do it. Nothing to be afraid of._ "I was Head Girl in Draco Malfoy's year."

Narcissa sighed heavily. Upon closer inspection Hermione saw her eyes were very red, and she looked pale and withdrawn. "The school would insist on these ridiculous formalities. Very well. Come in, and don't get in anyone's way."

Hermione was about to make her way in when Narcissa suddenly threw a hand out, stopping her. "You do look rather familiar, in fact," she said slowly. "What's your name?"

"Um," she swallowed. Here was the moment where she was kicked out in the most disgraceful way that they would probably think of. "Hermione Granger."

Draco's mother's reaction was immediate. A look of disgust replaced her inquiring face, and her hands were now firmly at her sides. "They sent _you_?"

Hermione was insulted, though she suspected the reaction that had been forthcoming. "I was Head Girl in his year," she said in the most dignified way she could. "I come here out of respect."

"But apparently, not out of respect for the rest of us," the mousy-haired woman snickered, having finally joined the conversation.

It took a few moments for Narcissa to compose herself. "I will not deny the school, though I must say their lack of sensitivity is appalling. You shall make yourself unseen, girl. Sit in the back, conjure a veil to cover your face and speak to no one. I will not have my other guests be disgraced in this way. Disgracing the hostess is bad enough." And she turned her back on Hermione and addressed another guest.

Feeling small indeed, yet furious with herself for knowing she had no reason to feel that way, Hermione did as she was told. There were five rows of chairs gathered in front of an elaborate coffin, which had in turn been propped in front of a freshly dug plot of earth. A portrait of Draco had been put near the coffin, and in it he was looking as arrogant as ever.

There were a good amount of visitors, Hermione saw. She recognised Pansy Parkinson and a few other Slytherins seated near the front, Pansy in particular holding a handkerchief and sobbing quite loudly into the shoulder of a Slytherin boy Hermione couldn't quite remember the name of.

It didn't take long for Pansy to recognise the lone figure seated at the back, even with a veil covered over her face. It didn't take long, either, for the news to spread that a Mudblood had had the audacity to befoul the memorial service with her presence; and that the particular Mudblood was a Gryffindor by the name of Hermione Granger.

Almost immediately heads began to turn and the whispering started. Hermione did her best to ignore them, something she usually was good at but which seemed to be failing her that particular day. Pansy, on a bathroom break, swept past her and hissed, "How dare you, bitch Mudblood." Hermione set her jaw and didn't say a word.

After what seemed like an eternity, the service began. Draco's mother came up first, speaking about Draco and the kind of life he'd had (in a good light, obviously). Her speech had not been emotional, nor had she shown any sign of the devastation that Hermione was sure she felt. After a year of having her son classified as a missing person, she was finally burying him and closing that chapter of her life, so to speak, permanently.

Pansy Parkinson had a turn at the podium, as well. Her speech had been very emotional, Hermione thought, and rather distasteful. It didn't help, either, that she kept throwing hints about "the disgrace that has showed her ugly face here".

It was the moment after they lowered the coffin that was the ugliest. Customarily, all the guests would walk past it and pay their last respects towards the deceased. Usually this was done by conjuring flowers or, if you knew the person well enough, something that he or she particularly liked. It could be butterflies, even a model broomstick.

Hermione was the last to approach the coffin. She walked past the portrait of Draco and he stuck his tongue out at her. Then she was in front of the coffin and then someone's hand suddenly shot out, grabbing her arm and twisting her backwards.

"Ow!" she exclaimed, turning to glare at a wizard who glowered at her and immediately let go of her once she looked at him.

"You will step over my dead body before you go near that poor boy's coffin again," he growled. "Have you no courtesy, no respect? You befoul the place by coming here, you break poor Narcissa's heart, and you disgrace – again – the house of Malfoy!"

Hermione gaped at him.

"I would urge you to leave," another witch piped up. "I don't know what Hogwarts was thinking but we don't want any of _your kind_ here."

Pansy took the moment to shove Hermione, hard, and caught by surprise, she fell into the wizard who had grabbed her arm just moments before. He pushed her off roughly and she struggled to regain balance. A Slytherin boy jostled her as he swept past. Suddenly everyone was talking loudly, insulting her, telling her to leave.

She'd just about had enough when Narcissa Malfoy stepped out in front of her, white, shaking, livid with rage. "You," she pointed her finger at Hermione, voice shaking. "I told you to remain unseen. Look at what you've done! This is my son's memorial service. _My son_. You've ruined it! You've upset my guests, me…" she drew a great shuddering breath and continued, "I want you out. Now." And when Hermione didn't move fast enough, she screamed, "_Get out_! Get out, you filthy Mudblood!"

Hermione fled.

* * *

_-END OF CHAPTER 2-_

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**A/N: Hmm…what did you think of that? Not that much Draco in this chapter, but I thought it would be interesting to show Hermione's take of the memorial service. A little flashback, so to speak.**


	4. Chapter 3: The Manor

**A/N: Yay! 3 reviews for the last chapter! Thank you so much! Here's the next one, hope you enjoy!**

**Thanks to my beta reader, Tarquinius, for beta-ing for me!**

**Chapter 3: The Manor **

For as long as he could remember, Draco had always carried money around with him. Even in the house, he usually had a few coins in his robes pocket. Like the mobile phones of modern Muggle age (though he couldn't possibly know it), being without some form of money – even just 5 Knuts and a Sickle – made him feel terribly naked and vulnerable, as if he didn't have something very important with him.

Today he was very glad that his odd habit had persisted, as he was sure that normally, a visit to your cousin in hospital with your guardians hardly merited a pocket of Galleons and Sickles. Which was why, upon reaching the floor of the reception, he was able to buy some Floo powder from the bored looking woman at the counter.

His thoughts had been racing ever since he had left Harry and Hermione. It was his fault, really. Mostly he thought about how it was all his fault and how he could make it right again. He was so _stupid_! Of course his mother would have been devastated, of course he should have tried to let her know sooner.

He didn't understand why his letter hadn't arrived. Owl post was supposed to be reliable. His Manor was easy to find. Merlin, he should have sent more letters. He should have tried harder. He should have…

Draco shook his head. The only thing now was to go to her. It wasn't too late.

He arrived in the drawing room of the Manor. It looked just as he remembered it, impeccably tidy and full of lavish furnishings. The antique bookshelf stood against a wall; the futons were made of leather and looked rigid yet comfortable; a bouquet of flowers sat on the glass coffee table; a rug covered part of the marble floor; the glass cabinet displayed plaques and various decorative items and vials.

Draco stepped out of the fireplace and dusted himself down with his wand. Behind him, above the mantelpiece, there was a portrait of the Malfoys: Lucius Malfoy, looking imposing and arrogant; Narcissa Malfoy, pretty but without a smile; Draco himself, looking sullen and irritated.

"M-m-master Malfoy!" the squeak of a house-elf made Draco look to the door. This was Bauble, Dobby's replacement. Bauble bowed low. Draco noticed that his ears were bandaged. "W-welcome back, young master." Not a word was spoken about Draco's supposed death and the house-elf hid his surprise well.

"Where's Mother?" Draco asked immediately, striding across the room towards the house-elf.

"In her room, sir," the house-elf replied. "But mistress is not to be disturbed, she says," he called after Draco, who had continued down the corridor without pause.

"She can be disturbed by this," Draco said, not bothering to look back. He leapt up the stairs, past the paintings of his ancestors and arrived, panting slightly, at his parents' bedroom. He brought up his hand to knock, expecting an annoyed reply.

Twice, thrice he knocked, but the inhabitant of the room was silent. He brought his ear to the door and listened intently. There was no sound. Was his mother sleeping?

He decided he didn't want to wait. He'd wake his mother up and she'd be ecstatic to see him. Smiling slightly at the thought, he tried the doorknob. It was locked, as he suspected.

"_Alohomora_," he muttered. The door swung open.

There, indeed, was his mother, lying on the bed. Filled with joy at seeing her after so long, Draco leapt to her side, disregarding everything else. He shook her. "Mother! Mother, wake up!" Then: "Ouch!"

He leapt onto the bed and grabbed his foot, glaring at the floor. His glare turned into a frown as he noticed shards of glass hidden in the carpet. What were they doing down there? It looked like they had come from a glass – but surely his mother would have cleaned it up?

He pointed his wand at his foot, wincing slightly. "_Scourgify_," he muttered, and the shards left his foot, though it still bled. Draco shouted for Bauble, then turned back to his mother, frowning. She was a light sleeper; surely she should have awoken at his yell before.

"Mother," he shook her. "Mother, wake up."

But she didn't.

"Mother," Draco repeated, louder this time. He shook her harder. "Wake up!"

Suddenly he paled. She seemed colder than usual. He grabbed her hand, heart hammering in his chest. Yes, she was cold – and he couldn't even see her breathing. "Mother!" he shook her, hard, and brought his head down to her chest. He couldn't hear anything.

Frantic now, he shook her again. Her head lolled onto the side – he noticed that her skin seemed greyish white. She'd always been fair, but certainly not –

"Please, please, please…"

The world seemed to spin before him. His mother – no, it couldn't be. She'd taken a Sleeping Potion, that's why he couldn't wake her up. She wasn't –

He let out a cry just as Bauble entered the room. The house elf immediately rushed towards the bed. "Master –"

"Wake her up!" Draco demanded, grabbing the house elf and shaking him. Bauble looked fearfully from Narcissa Malfoy to Draco. "Wake her!" The house elf shook his head, eyes round. Draco cursed and threw him off the bed.

Suddenly he swooned – the world seemed to pitch before him, and he threw his hand out onto the bed to stop from falling. "Wha –" the world made another turn and he held onto the bed tightly. He closed his eyes. _I will not faint. _He had no reason to. His mother was fine.

When he opened his eyes again everything seemed normal. Bauble was standing fearfully by the wall and Draco snarled at him, "Useless creature," before turning back to his mother. Panic rose up. She was cold, she was grey, she was…

She just couldn't be. He got up in frenzy, meaning to shake her as hard as he could, slap her even…anything to wake her up – but then he fell back, suddenly weakened, unable even to lift his arms. He could barely even move them and his strength seemed to be leaving him very quickly. The world spun, tilted, and righted itself again. A freezing sensation was moving up from his legs. His hands fumbled around clumsily, found the cold fingers of his mother's and held on.

Bauble came into his line of vision – it was suddenly hard to breathe, and his eyelids were heavy. The house elf was gesticulating and chattering wildly but he couldn't hear. Everything was muted. Bauble was holding a small vial that, under normal circumstances, Draco would have recognised.

He couldn't move. His eyelids were closing of their own accord. They fluttered – he struggled to stay awake…then familiar black spots stole across his vision and he fell unconscious.

* * *

Harry and Hermione had decided to take a little detour and visit Tonks before returning to the Weasleys. Although Mrs. Weasley had always treated Harry as if he were her own, in times and events like these Harry felt as he did the time Mr. Weasley had been poisoned by the snake, and they'd all been waiting anxiously at Grimmauld Place. He just felt _odd_, and that the Weasleys needed time to be together as a family without him or Hermione.

"Which ward is she in?" Harry murmured when they reached the floor for spell damage.

"It's the third on the left," Hermione directed, and they set off down the corridor, passing Healers and a wizard that was attempting to walk without assistance.

On entering the cheery daisy-decorated ward, they immediately spotted Tonks with her bubblegum pink hair. She was chatting animatedly to a woman with long dark brown hair and a man with light brown hair, who was wearing glasses. Harry and Hermione went up to her bed.

"Hi, Tonks."

"Wotcher Harry, Hermione!" she called out cheerfully. "Mum and Dad, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger. Harry and Hermione, my parents." The four of them shook hands.

"How are you?" Hermione asked.

"Just fine, thank you," Tonks replied, looking pleased. "With luck, I should be out of here tomorrow or the day after. My Healer is just like Madam Pomfrey," she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "She doesn't want to let you out!"

"Dear, she just wants to make sure you're alright," Andromeda said bemusedly. "That was a rather nasty curse you took."

Tonks waved it off airily. "I'm alright, Mum, really." She turned back to Harry and Hermione. "Speaking of mothers, how is…?"

"She's getting there, I think," Hermione said, furrowing her brow and biting her lip. "It isn't easy for her…I mean, you know what's happened." And her eyes looked very bright for a moment.

Tonks looked sympathetic. "It's going to be alright, you two. It doesn't seem like it now, but it will be. And she'll heal; she just needs time. I know Molly, she's a strong woman."

"Yeah," Harry said, looking extremely uncomfortable. His eyes, too, seemed a little bright. He looked away from the bed, casting around for a change of topic; recently, discussing the Weasleys was something he tried to avoid, though Hermione felt she had to talk about it in order to feel better.

His eyes caught sight of the vial that Draco had brought Tonks. "Wow – what is that?"

"Oh!" Tonks brightened up. "It changes colour when different people hold it. Try it, Harry, see what colour it turns to."

Harry picked it up and immediately the colours changed to different shades of green. Hermione inspected it next, and it turned into shades of orange and yellow. "This is an Identifying Potion, isn't it? It's beautiful."

"It is, isn't it?" Tonks agreed. "And – well, I suppose it is safe to tell you now. Draco Malfoy made it for me."

"_What_?" Harry almost shouted. Hermione was so shocked she almost dropped the vial.

"Oh, you know. Blond hair, tall fellow. Walks with a strut," Tonks grinned.

"Malfoy – he – you –" Harry spluttered. His hands clenched into a fist inadvertently, and then a moment later he relaxed them.

"He's been in hiding with us for the past year," Andy explained.

Harry was still having trouble finding suitable words. Draco Malfoy, in hiding with the Tonkses, no less! And Tonks seemed to have fond memories of him! When she was going out with Remus Lupin, whom Draco loathed! How could he have ended up with them? He had been in league with Voldemort, he'd tried to kill Dumbledore! Why would they have taken him in?

Hermione was beginning to frown. "Do you know where he is now?"

"In the tearoom," Andy replied. "Although, it has been a while…Ted, could you go on and check on him? It's just that I worry, and…"

"I'll check," Ted kissed her cheek. He made to leave but Hermione spoke.

"Actually, we bumped into him in the tearoom just now. He – well, I was very surprised to see him, because, well –" she really didn't quite know how to put it, but ploughed on anyway. "I attended his memorial service last Friday," she said very quickly.

Andy, Ted and Tonks' reactions were all as surprised as Draco's had been. Quickly, Hermione told them of how Draco's mother had organised it as a private affair, and then how Draco had sped off upon hearing the news.

"I – I think," Hermione said hesitantly, "that he may have gone off to see his mother." She knew she would have, had she been in his position.

Andy groaned. "I know he has. Alright, I'll go and pay Narcissa a visit. No, Ted, you wouldn't be welcome there. I'll be fine going alone." She kissed him on the cheek. "I'll be back soon."

Before she had taken two steps towards the door, however, a young Healer rushed in, looking anxious and worried. "Mr and Mrs Tonks?" Ted and Andy nodded. "I – I have something I need to tell you." He looked unsure of whether or not he should announce his news in front of everyone else.

"Over here," Ted motioned for the corner of the room and the Healer followed. Harry watched curiously as the young Healer whispered urgently to Tonks' parents. Tonks' mother turned pale and Harry heard her ask, "Will he be alright?" He took a quick look at Tonks and saw that she, too, looked concerned and curious.

"Mum, what is it?" she asked immediately once the Healer was finished.

"It's – it's Draco," Andy replied, and Harry heard the shock in her voice.

Tonks immediately sat up straight. "What?"

"He appears to have been poisoned," Ted replied for his wife, reaching for her hand and squeezing it.

"How can – what –" Tonks spluttered.

"We don't know all the details yet, but the important thing right now is whether he'll be alright. Your mother and I will go to him, and we'll come back when everything has settled down, alright?" Without waiting for an answer Ted and Andy exited.

Tonks gaped after them. Then she swore.

* * *

_-END OF CHAPTER 3-_

* * *

**A/N: Koff. Ok. Another cliffhanger, I know. I can't help myself :D**

**Reviews and constructive criticism very welcome!**


	5. Chapter 4: Awakening

**A/N: Thank you for the reviews, everyone! Thanks also to my beta, Tarquinius, for helping me with this chap!**

**Hope you like this, happy reading!**

**Chapter 4: Awakening **

Draco awoke slowly. A plain white ceiling swam into view and he blinked. This wasn't his bedroom in the Tonkses' house. The blankets were stiff and didn't smell at all familiar. He shifted a bit in the bed. As his mind became more alert he realised that the room itself smelled awfully familiar…almost like St Mungo's. But why would he be in St Mungo's?

A familiar face appeared above him. Aunt Andy. Draco opened his mouth to speak but she shushed him.

"It's alright, Draco," she soothed. "Do you know what's happened?"

He opened his mouth, realised it was dry then closed it again as he tried to wet it. Aunt Andy helped him up and handed him a glass of water, which he drank in small sips. Hadn't he been visiting Tonks in St Mungo's? Why then was he in bed now?

He'd gone to the tearoom, he remembered. Oh, and met Harry and Hermione. And Hermione had told him…he grimaced. The memorial service. Then there was the Manor and – oh Merlin.

Draco sat bolt upright and the glass fell from his hands, shattering as it hit the floor. "_Mother_!" Wild eyes met his aunt's sorrowful ones. "My mother – she – oh Merlin – she was _grey_, Aunt Andy – I –"

And then he was held in a tight embrace, his aunt's warm arms around him, stroking his back. "Shh," she said softly. "I know."

He struggled out of her arms. "What do you mean, you know? You didn't – I just went in and –" looking suddenly pale he leaned back against the pillows and shut his eyes. She'd looked so – there was no other word for it – dead. "She's dead, isn't she?" he whispered, opening his eyes to look at his aunt.

She nodded slowly. "I'm so sorry, Draco."

He gave a little cry and immediately was enveloped by warm arms again. Draco had never been one for hugs, but now didn't object. He was too busy trying to stop the deluge of thoughts and images that were now assaulting him.

His mother, cold and grey, lying on her bed; the last time he'd seen her alive, at the train station, looking pale and strained, inadvertently giving him a quick kiss on the cheek as he left; sending the house elves to him with soothing and healing salves after a beating from his father; bringing him for ice cream when he was younger, always letting him choose as many flavours as he wanted; and whispering words of comfort to him as he lay in bed, wracked in pain after first receiving the Dark Mark.

He'd been as close to his mother as was proper in his aristocratic family. He loved her dearly; that was what had motivated and brought him so far in the Dark Lord's task. Merlin, he'd missed her so much in the past year. The way her smile lit up her face when she allowed it to; her rare gestures of love; the elegant way she moved, almost regally; she was one of the most beautiful people Draco knew.

It was hard to breathe, held in that tight embrace by his aunt. His throat felt constricted and he gasped for air, pulling away slightly. It helped, but only a little. He realised that his face was wet with tears and he wiped at them half-heartedly. A low moan escaped from his lips. His mother was gone. She'd never return.

Aunt Andy was rubbing his back, making soothing noises as she did so. Normally this would have appalled him; now it just seemed to calm him down. He lay in his aunt's arms for a while longer, the rush of thoughts and memories slowing, replaced with a dull ache in his heart. His mother. Oh Merlin, that coldness. Finding her, touching her…

Draco repressed a shudder. No, he wouldn't think about it. His mother was beautiful. She had that amazing smile, and – another wave of grief overtook him and he let out a sob. How could he lose her like this? How could fate have been so cruel? A year, a year he'd waited, without any contact, and the minute he went looking for her – oh, Merlin, and she didn't even know he was still alive! He could have pounded his fists if he could, at the frustration and the anger, but Aunt Andy wasn't letting him go.

He stayed in her arms for a long time. Eventually the question of 'how?' made its way into his mind. Witches didn't just die in their beds. Someone had murdered his mother, he just knew it.

Drawing a deep, shuddering breath, Draco looked up at his aunt. "Who did it?"

Her eyes showed surprise. An instant later it was replaced by sympathy, which Draco immediately didn't like. He didn't need to be pitied. "Who killed her?" he asked, more sharply.

"I – oh, Draco – no one murdered her," Aunt Andy said.

"When someone ends up dead like that, I suppose it's by accident, then," Draco snapped.

"It's not like that," Ted Tonks spoke up for the first time, and Draco realised he wasn't alone with his aunt. Ted had been sitting on a stool next to Andy. Draco recognised the room then, too, as a ward in St Mungo's. _How did I get here?_ he wondered. Then Ted continued talking and Draco put the thought away, meaning to ask about it later. "Draco, it – it appears to have been suicide."

It took a while for the words to settle in. Even then, all Draco managed to croak out was, "I'm sorry?"

"It looks like she killed herself," Ted said gently.

"That's – that's impossible," Draco shook his head. "Why would she kill herself? Someone murdered her and made it look like she killed herself, that's what it is!"

He missed the look that Ted and Andy shared. "Draco, it's – it's hard to take in, I know, but the Aurors are pretty sure that's what happened." Andy attempted to draw him into another hug but Draco flinched away.

"My mother would not just _kill herself_," Draco insisted.

"Draco, please don't make this harder on yourself," Andy pleaded.

The blond boy did not answer. Instead he asked, "What am I doing in St Mungo's?"

"You were poisoned," Andy said. "Your house elf, Bauble, Flooed the staff at St Mungo's and when they arrived at the Manor, they found you unconscious. Draco, did you eat anything at the Manor?"

Draco shook his head. "No, I just – just went looking for my mother." He felt an odd prickling sensation at the corner of his eyes. He blinked until the sensation went away. "How did I get poisoned?"

The door to the ward opened then and a Healer stepped in. She was fair, with auburn hair and glasses. "Ah, you're awake." She strode towards Draco's bed and Andy stepped aside to let her through. "How are you feeling?"

"I –" Draco blinked. "How do you think I'm feeling? I feel awful! Merlin, how thick are you? No one asks how you're feeling when one of your parents has died!" It then occurred to him that the Healer might be referring to the physical aspect of him, which was confirmed by her rather horrified look. "But physically, I feel fine." _Except for this ache in my chest, but I doubt that's the poison._ He pushed back the thought.

"I'm sorry," the Healer said. "I didn't mean about your mother. I really didn't."

"Yeah, I know," Draco said shortly. "Like I said before, physically I feel fine."

The Healer then performed a few diagnostic tests on him, muttering a spell and scanning his body with her wand. Words appeared in midair in front of her and she nodded at various intervals, prompting the words to disappear and be replaced by graphs and tables.

"Well, everything looks alright," she nodded a final time and the words disappeared. "It's lucky you only had a small dose of the poison, and that your house elf alerted us so very quickly."

"Bauble, you mean?" Draco asked. Healer Traith nodded. He remembered suddenly seeing Bauble hold up a vial just before he lost consciousness in his parents' room. "What was I poisoned with?"

"Arentil," Healer Traith answered.

Draco gaped at her. "Impossible. If I'd ingested that, I'd have died on the spot!"

"That's just it, you didn't ingest it," the Healer explained. "I believe you stepped on some glass prior to losing consciousness?" Draco nodded. "The glass came from one that had contained a high concentration of Arentil. When you stepped on it, there was still an amount of Arentil left. And the glass pierced your skin, allowing the poison to enter your bloodstream."

"There's no cure for Arentil," Draco said, mind whirling.

"Under normal circumstances, no," Healer Traith admitted. "Fortunately we _were_ able to purge the poison from your body, as there was so little of it. You've been very lucky."

Draco made a noncommittal noise in reply. Arentil! His father had spoken often of the poison, about how difficult it was to acquire, and how a small vial cost almost a fortune. "It's a good thing we have one in our stores, Draco," he'd said, nodding in satisfaction. "Colourless, odourless – and once ingested, the victim merely falls as if he'd fainted. It's almost as clean a death as Avada Kadavra, I'd say."

"There's something else I have to tell you about the poison," the Healer said, looking suddenly apprehensive and on guard. "Your mother ingested Arentil."

"I…see," Draco said faintly. He'd assumed it had been Avada Kadavra. But if the poison had been found on the glass he'd stepped on, it made sense that his mother had been the one to take it. He cleared his throat. "Where is my mother?"

"We have her here," the Healer said. "You'll need to stay here overnight for observation, but tomorrow you may leave, and you can see her then."

Draco nodded. The Healer left then, and Aunt Andy sat back down. By then Draco was already deep in thought, trying to remember exactly the vial Bauble had been holding up. It had been small, he knew. A deep red colour, with…he frowned. There had been a label on it, hadn't there? It was familiar, he thought, but he just couldn't place the vial.

The door to the ward opened again, this time admitting two tall men in plain dark blue robes. One had a long ponytail and bright blue eyes; the other had hair cut severely short and a long scar across his cheek.

"Mr Draco Malfoy?" the wizard with the scar across his cheek asked brusquely. "I'm Auror Cranning and this is Auror Briggs. We'd like to ask you a few questions regarding your mother's death."

Draco tried not to cringe at the matter-of-fact tone the wizard used. "I didn't do anything."

"Draco has just woken up," Andy said. "He's just recovered from a poisoning. I hardly think he's in the right frame of mind to be questioned at the moment."

"He will be released from St Mungo's tomorrow," Ted added. "We can go to the Ministry then and Draco can answer your questions there."

Auror Briggs looked apologetic. "I'm sorry, but we really do need to question him now. He's a witness, and it's really preferable to question witnesses as close as possible to the time of…well, in this case, the time you found her, Mr Malfoy."

"Really, can't this wait until tomorrow?" Andy asked more heatedly. "He's been through a lot today!"

Draco didn't like being coddled like this, and cleared his throat. "I don't mind being questioned," he said with a slight drawl. He didn't want to relive his time in the Manor, but if it helped the Aurors find out what had happened to his mother (he refused to believe it was suicide) then, well, he'd relive it.

"Are you sure?" Andy looked like she was about to continue but Ted spoke softly to her, saying Draco could handle it and would be fine.

"Alright then," Auror Cranning said. "We'll need to question you alone, Mr Malfoy. No contamination to the witness, see? Mr and Mrs Tonks, we should only need less than an hour, I think."

Andy and Ted left, giving Draco encouraging looks as they did so. As soon as the door to the ward closed Draco immediately felt some apprehension. These were Aurors and he was a Malfoy. No Auror, surely, liked anyone by the name of Malfoy. But he wasn't a suspect in his mother's death, was he? They had no reason to manhandle him – didn't they?

Maybe he shouldn't have agreed so quickly to the questioning. Stories his Uncle Gyrath, one of his father's brothers, had told him made their way to the forefront of his mind. Uncle Gyrath had never walked on the side of the law (then again, what Malfoy had?) and had had a lot of run-ins with the Aurors. Their methods of questioning, according to his uncle, had been rough, to say the least. Then again, Uncle Gyrath had been a major suspect in many crimes, especially during Voldemort's first reign of terror.

Auror Briggs transfigured one of the stools into a table and set a roll of parchment on it. He took out a quill (Draco recognised it as a self-inking, dictating one) and placed it on top of the parchment, where it hovered expectantly.

"This will record our entire questioning process," he explained. Speaking to the quill, he said, "Incipio. The date is Thursday, the 16th of September, 1998. Questioners are Aurors Brian Cranning and Jeffrey Briggs of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Witness is one Draco Abraxas Malfoy, son of the deceased, whose maiden name is Narcissa Muera Black. In accordance with standard Department of Magical Law Enforcement procedure, as stipulated by the Bagnold Directive, witness has acquiesced to questioning of his own volition. Hitherto, all stipulations of the Directive have been observed."

"Now, Mr Malfoy," Auror Briggs said, pausing to take a breath, "could you relate to us the events shortly before you found your mother, and how you found her?"

And so the questioning began. Draco swallowed nervously, willed himself to be strong, and began speaking.

* * *

_-END OF CHAPTER 4-_

* * *

**A/N: I'd like to extend a further thanks to my beta for helping me with the start of the investigation. I love his addition of the Bagnold Directive.**

**Constructive criticism and reviews are very much appreciated.**


	6. Chapter 5: Questioning

**A/N: Whee! I got a lot of reviews for the last chapter, thanks so much! Thanks also to my beta, Tarquinius, for helping me.**

**Hope you enjoy this!**

**Chapter 5: Questioning **

"The poison must have been taking effect, then, because I passed out after that," Draco finished. He'd just told the Aurors about returning to the Manor and finding his mother. There had been many pauses in his retelling, as he struggled to collect himself and not be overwhelmed by the memories.

"All right." Auror Cranning took a look at the transcript. "We've ascertained that the glass you stepped on contained Arentil, and that your mother took it. Did you notice anything odd about the room, or any odd behaviour from the house elves?"

Draco shook his head. "I was focused on my…my mother. I don't think Bauble was acting oddly, either. I remember he told me that my mother had told the house elves not to disturb her, though."

Briggs nodded. "I see. This house elf – Bauble, is it? – was holding this vial. Do you recognise it?" He produced a small vial, its glass a deep red. The Malfoy crest (a snake with a double-edged tongue, looped around a shield that bore the letter M) was embedded in the glass. The label on it read, "For peace."

Draco recognised it immediately, even without having to read the cryptic label. "Was that empty when you found it?"

"Almost," Briggs replied. "Do you recognise it?"

Draco nodded. "It's supposed to contain Arentil. My father's private store."

The Aurors nodded. "Right," Cranning said. "It did indeed contain Arentil. Do you know why your house elf was holding this vial?"

"I doubt Bauble poisoned my mother," Draco frowned. "He must have picked it up."

"Your house elf has refused to be questioned, insisting that only the family can order him to speak. Would you summon him, please?"

Draco nodded, and a minute later Bauble had _cracked!_ into the room. "M-m-master calls Bauble, sir?" the house elf enquired with a hint of fear in his voice.

"Yes. Answer these Aurors' questions, will you?"

Bauble, it turned out, had noticed the almost-empty vial sitting on the bed's side table. He'd taken it up to tell Draco of it, but as Draco had already been starting to lose consciousness by then, he had not managed to. When questioned on his mistress's behaviour earlier on in the day, Draco had to prompt him to continue.

"Mistress had been acting oddly that morning," Bauble told Draco and the Aurors. In fact, she'd been acting oddly since Tuesday, when she'd received that letter – "What letter?" Cranning asked sharply. Bauble didn't know, but it had upset his mistress greatly. Later that day mistress had retired to her room, ordering the elves to leave her alone and not to disturb her, "not even if the Minister for Magic himself came knocking," she'd said.

Bauble didn't know when the vial had been taken from the private store. When asked how exactly Mrs Malfoy had been acting strangely, Bauble said only that she was very jumpy, easily distraught and irritable.

"Do you know where that letter is?" Cranning enquired. Bauble shook his head. "Did anyone come to the house at all today?" Again, Bauble shook his head. "Are you sure? You would definitely have known if someone paid a visit to the house?"

"Yes, sirs, Bauble would have, sirs. Bauble knew immediately the moment young master Malfoy stepped into the house, and he was the only one today, sirs."

"Did Mrs Malfoy speak to anyone today? Did she send off any owls?" Briggs asked next.

"Mistress…mistress did be sending off a letter today, sirs," Bauble nodded. "To Azkaban, it was, to master Malfoy."

Now the Aurors exchanged significant looks as the recording quill continued scratching away. "I think that's all we need from you, Bauble." Cranning nodded at Draco. "If you would, Mr Malfoy…?"

Draco waved his hand and Bauble disappeared. His mother had been acting oddly? Had she known she was about to die? Or had she planned it herself, a voice deep in the back of Draco's mind asked. After all, she's the only one to know about the vial, that same voice continued. The letter to his father did not concern him as much as it did the Aurors. He doubted his mother would enjoy visiting Azkaban and a letter was a good way to communicate.

"Mr Malfoy," Briggs began, and Draco turned his attention back to the Auror. "Can you tell us anything else about this vial?"

"Only that no one except a Malfoy would have known where to find it," Draco said. He turned a pleading look to the Aurors. "But someone could have forced my mother to take it, couldn't they?" His mother had not committed suicide, surely. Deep in his mind, though, he feared that there really was no murderer.

"As of this moment, I'm afraid it looks like suicide," Briggs said, somewhat gently. "We still have to check the letter your mother sent off, among other things, but I don't think that would change anything."

Draco nodded, his throat tight. The Aurors didn't have much to question him with after that. As they left he heard them mentioning needing to make a visit to Azkaban. Then the door closed and he was left alone with his thoughts.

His mother, dead and gone. Suicide by Arentil, of all things! Merlin, why? Surely her life hadn't been so meaningless? Your father is in jail, though, that accursed voice in his head told him. And she thought you were dead. Maybe she didn't think there was any more reason to live, with no family near her.

Draco shook his head. That couldn't be the reason, could it? _But she held that memorial service…she didn't know you were still alive…and didn't she once say a life without her son would not be worth much living?_ He closed his eyes, picturing that moment. It had been in his bedroom, and he'd been in his bed, indisposed for some reason. She'd been sitting beside him, just talking to him. She'd said it playfully, he remembered. But had there been a grain of truth in it?

Damn it all! Draco's jaw clenched. If it hadn't been for this stupid war and Voldemort, he wouldn't have had to go into hiding. His mother wouldn't have thought he was dead. And even in hiding, if the Order had done its job like it was supposed to, his mother would have gone into hiding with him, and would have known he was alive. She wouldn't have committed suicide, then.

And that ridiculous period of isolation after Potter had killed the Dark Lord…surely there had been some way for him and his mother to meet safely? Surely the great Order could have arranged something…he wouldn't have minded if he'd had to meet her under surveillance, would he? He shook his head. Alright, that wasn't really an ideal situation. _And you never pushed the matter, anyway, did you?_ Draco shoved the thought away. The Order could have – no, should have – done something.

Draco looked up as Andy and Ted re-entered the ward. "How was it?" Andy asked.

"Fine," Draco said shortly. Suddenly he didn't want to talk to his aunt and uncle. He felt like being alone. He wanted to brood.

Andy came closer to him. "I know it must have been hard, having to tell the Aurors everything –"

"It's done," Draco said. "I'm fine."

"Alright…just know that if you need to talk –"

"I don't want to talk."

"– or if you need anything –"

"Don't need that, either."

" – anytime, Draco, we're here for you."

"Yeah."

Andy looked like she wanted to give Draco a hug, but thought better of it.

"Right now, I'd like to be alone," Draco said. "If you would?" He looked at them expectantly, ignoring his aunt and uncle's surprised looks.

"Are you sure?" Ted asked. "It –"

"Yes, I'm sure," Draco snapped. "I. Want. To. Be. Alone. By myself. In solitude. It's an easy concept to understand, don't you think?"

Ted put up his hands in surrender. "We're leaving, we're leaving."

Draco didn't reply. He stared resolutely at a wall as they left.

* * *

Harry's mind was whirling a bit as he and Hermione left Tonks' ward for Mrs Weasley's. Draco Malfoy had been in hiding with the Tonkses; he'd been poisoned, but was going to be alright; his mother had been found _dead_, by her own son – gosh, even though he and Draco had been enemies throughout school, he never would have wished this fate on the blond Slytherin. Through his dislike, Harry was finding more pity for the Slytherin. He shook his head. A bit more than a year ago, that notion would have been…well, honestly, as alien as it seemed now. But here he was, feeling pity for Draco Malfoy.

Had he changed much in this past year? Harry wondered. He must have, to have Tonks so worried at the news of his poisoning, and to have her recall him fondly as she mentioned his gift. Tonks, surely, wouldn't have liked the Draco Malfoy that Harry remembered from Hogwarts. He recalled Sirius telling him once that Tonks' father was a Muggleborn. Did that mean Draco now didn't believe in the purity of blood?

As Harry and Hermione neared Mrs Weasley's ward, he began to feel a constricting feeling in his chest and thoughts of Draco Malfoy flew from his mind. The Weasleys. They were the family that had treated him like their own, whose mention of name should make him smile. Now, however, it just made him feel as if something was tearing up inside him. It was _painful_ to think of them, because it just reminded him acutely of what he had lost.

Just as when he'd lost Sirius, Harry had tried not to think about it, tried to bury it deep inside him. But this wasn't Sirius, who had no family to remind him of his godfather every time he looked at them; no family that he now spent almost all his time with, forcing him to think, and remember, and to grieve.

Like Sirius, though, Harry felt he was to blame – sometimes even more so for these deaths than his godfather's. It had happened during the final battle, after all. They'd been fighting for _him_. If there hadn't been a Harry Potter, there wouldn't have been a final battle, and they wouldn't have been there to be killed.

"If there hadn't been a Harry Potter, more of us would have died," Hermione had told him, days ago. "Sooner or later, it would have happened."

It didn't comfort him much.

The ward seemed gloomy, as usual, though it was probably because of the mood of the people inside it. Mrs Weasley was sitting upright in the bed, with Mr Weasley beside her, holding her hand. The twins were standing nearby, eyes tired and wearing sombre robes. Bill was there, too, with Fleur. Harry didn't have to look for Percy; he knew that was one Weasley who was barely counted as part of the family anymore. But the other…

"Gone for a walk," Fred said to Harry's enquiring look. "I wouldn't follow."

Harry nodded and forced a smile for Mrs Weasley. "We visited Tonks just now."

"Oh, how is she?" Mrs Weasley asked, attempting a smile and failing. Her eyes were rimmed red and there were circles around it, too. She looked haggard and miserable, and had clearly lost some weight.

"She's doing well," Hermione answered. "She'll be out of the hospital tomorrow. Oh, and she sends her regard."

Mrs Weasley had been admitted to St Mungo's a little less than two weeks ago. Chronic depression, the Healers had said, not unusual for someone who had lost two of her children in the same day, and in such a traumatic one at that. "We'll keep her here for a bit," they'd said, "to monitor her and help her, and then she can go home."

Harry well remembered being at the Burrow in the days following Voldemort's downfall. Mrs Weasley would cry constantly, as the slightest reminder of her two children would set her off (and, as furniture itself could stir up memories, it was very often). She was distracted and forgot things often, including meals. Her children and Mr Weasley had taken to cooking and even cleaning, all the while trying to comfort her (and failing) while dealing with their own grief.

Sometimes she grew angry and snapped at everyone, and then something would remind her of her loss, and she would break down again, apologising profusely and sniffing about how everyone should stay together, and how grateful she should be that they were still here. Sometimes she refused to get out of bed, and Mr Weasley would spend hours trying to talk to her, but to no avail.

Harry felt very intrusive during these times, and often stayed out of the family's way. After the war he'd been offered a place at the Burrow, until he found one of his own. He'd hesitated at first; after all, it would surely serve as a reminder to what he'd lost, just as Grimmauld Place would have reminded him of Sirius. Friendship had won him over in the end; his friends wanted him there, so he'd go.

"How's the shop going?" Hermione asked the twins.

Fred shrugged. "We're closed on Thursdays at the moment, so I guess you could say we've less business than normally, but overall we're doing fine."

"We've stopped developing new products for the moment," George added. "Er – just for the time being."

The Healers had advised Harry, Hermione and the Weasleys to avoid talking about Voldemort or the deaths of the two Weasley children in front of Mrs Weasley, and, if Mrs Weasley began, to let her talk but not dwell too much on it. "We want to keep her spirits up," the Healer had told them, "And we do need to let her grieve, but not to dwell so much that she cannot move on."

Mrs Weasley still had bad days, of course. But Harry thought she was improving slightly, and could mention her children's names without bursting into tears now. He wondered when the Healers would know they could release her, and hoped the time would come soon. It hurt to see her in so much emotional pain, even though Harry himself felt that same pain, most often when he was alone and the losses hung heavy on him.

The door to the ward creaked open. Harry forced a weak smile as the youngest of the remaining Weasleys entered. "Hey."

* * *

_-END OF CHAPTER 5-_

* * *

**A/N: Muahaha. You can't tell who's dead, can you? I love suspense. Don't worry, though, I'm revealing it in the next chapter.**

**Anyway, I found it hard to write the scene with the Weasleys, so do tell me what you think of that, as well as anything else you liked and disliked.**


	7. Chapter 6: Wizard's Chess and Dealing

**A/N: Thank you for all the reviews, everyone! I loved them all. Thanks also to my beta, Tarquinius! Well you guys are finally going to know for sure which of the Weasleys are dead. Hope you enjoy the chapter!**

**Chapter 6: Wizard's Chess and Dealing **

Ron Weasley couldn't return his best friend's smile, managing only to nod before seating himself near his mother's bed. There were rings around his eyes, too, and they were slightly red. He'd taken the deaths of Charlie and Ginny almost as hard as Mrs Weasley had.

Hermione took a seat next to Ron. "We visited Tonks just now," she told him.

"Ok," Ron replied dully. He replied to a lot of things dully, now.

"Would you like to play some wizard's chess with me?" Hermione asked a while later.

A bit of life stirred in the redhead's eyes. "You know I'll beat you."

"I can try anyway," Hermione said, taking out the chess-set. "Colour?"

"Black," Ron answered, leaving Mrs. Weasley's side and sitting opposite Hermione.

Hermione, Harry thought, really knew how to help Ron get his mind off his siblings. Chess was one of the few things Ron could get completely engrossed in. Harry was struck, too, by her willingness to play. Hermione had always been bad at chess and usually, it would take ages for Ron to persuade her to play with him.

Harry watched them play, forcing his mind to focus on the game and try and anticipate each of his friend's next moves. He didn't really want to think about Ginny or Charlie, or what that war with Voldemort had cost him. Ginny and her beautiful smile, and that flowery smell that he'd never get anywhere else…

_Focus, Harry!_ his mind commanded. But he didn't. He was picturing Ginny in his mind; her bright brown eyes that he used to stare into and never got tired of; her long hair, which he loved to twine around his fingers when he kissed her; and her freckles, which he thought looked adorable.

That horrible ache started up in his chest again. He missed her so much! Talking to her, kissing her, just being in her presence…that sense of humour, her pluckiness and cheek…he remembered a Quidditch match in which she barrelled into the commentator's podium to knock out one Zacharias Smith. The memory normally made him laugh; now, he wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.

"Checkmate," Ron declared, moving a knight and trapping Hermione's king. "That really was too easy, Hermione."

Hermione tried not to look too disappointed. "Rematch, then."

Ron looked surprised. "That's not like you –"

"_I'll_ play you, Ron," Harry said, taking Hermione's place. She scooted off quickly, looking a bit thankful. _This_, Harry thought, _should take my mind off Ginny._

"Black or white?" Ron enquired this time.

"Black," Harry decided, really not caring what colour his pieces were. They moved to appropriate sides of the board. Two knights (of different colour) squabbled a bit as they passed each other on the board, and the black knight managed to hit the other one before scooting out of reach, laughing loudly. Ron told him to shut up and behave.

Ron made the first move; a knight. Harry followed up with a pawn that met Ron's knight head-on. It was easy to concentrate on the game at first. Both boys made quick moves that allowed no time for thinking about anything except the game. Then came a moment when Ron was mulling over his next move and Harry's mind drifted. It went to Ginny again.

He was so engrossed in his thoughts, and trying not to show them in his face, that he missed completely Ron's next move. It wasn't until Ron waved his hand in front of his face that he started.

"Harry, are you there?"

"Sorry," Harry muttered, taking a quick glance at the chessboard. He couldn't tell which piece Ron had moved. Distractedly, he moved a castle into the direct path of Ron's queen.

"Oi, pay attention!" the castle roared, at the same time Ron asked, "Are you sure about that, mate?"

Harry didn't notice Ron's queen. He nodded, but in any case, once he'd made a move it couldn't be undone. Ron scanned the board again, looking for a trick that maybe he'd missed, but there was none. He moved his queen. The castle refused to be taken off the board and gave a great fight as the queen dragged him off.

Ron looked at Harry closely but only said, "Your move, Harry."

Absently Harry moved a pawn. It yelled at him, too, but his face betrayed no emotion. Ron quickly dispatched it. "Harry, you're not concentrating."

"Sorry," Harry muttered again, trying to make more of an effort to scan the board properly.

Very predictably, Ron won. Then Bill immersed him in a discussion on what he wanted to do for his career, which Harry only half-listened to. Hermione was very interested, and at some point asked him about house-elves and what she could do to influence the rights they had. Bill told her he didn't think the house elves _wanted_ their rights changed (Fleur sniffed "I should theenk so!"), but told her what he thought she could do anyway.

Soon it was time for them to leave the wizarding hospital. Harry was a little relieved. At the Burrow he could have some time for himself. Everyone except Fred and George said goodbye to Mrs Weasley. The twins were staying overnight before leaving early to their joke shop the next day.

"Don't you worry about me, children," Mrs Weasley said, as they left. "Just take care of yourselves, now."

Harry quickly isolated himself from his friends when they reached the Burrow. They didn't really enquire after him; it was usual for him, now, and they all knew that everyone needed a little time alone. Time to think, and time to grieve.

But Harry didn't really want time to grieve. He just wanted to be alone where he could sort out his thoughts, and try and get that ache out of his heart. It just _hurt_. He couldn't believe, sometimes, that Ginny was really gone. He half-expected her to jump out at him. But no, he'd seen her die, she was _gone_. She would never come back.

He sighed. It'd been different with Sirius. He hadn't had that terrible ache; just a sort of lonely emptiness. Was that unfair to Sirius, then, that he felt Ginny's loss so painfully like this? But he loved Sirius, too – as much as he loved Ginny. It was a different kind of love, but love all the same. Why then did he feel differently?

Harry shook his head. He hated thinking about this, as he tended to do when he was alone. But if he spent all his time with Ron or Hermione or any of the other Weasleys, he felt a bit as if he'd go crazy trying to lighten the mood or cheer someone up, or trying to be normal when what he wanted to do was –

_No. I'll not think of Ginny._

_Quidditch_, he decided. _Quidditch Through the Ages._ The book had always kept him reasonably occupied before. Getting up from where he'd been sitting outside in the garden, he entered the house. He had to pass by Ginny's old room before reaching Ron's landing and he made to hurry quickly by it, but the sound of voices made him stop. Someone was in there.

He went cautiously to the door and the muffled voices grew louder.

"How do you do it, Hermione?" It was Ron, sounding very distraught. "How do you stay so strong like that?"

"I don't, not really," Hermione replied, and Harry could tell by the tone of her voice that she had just started to cry, as he guessed Ron was doing as well.

"But you can just – you _function_, Hermione! I'm a wreck!" Ron cried. "I can't think about them without having this awful twisting feeling, and sometimes it's like I can't even – I can't even _breathe_, it hurts so much!"

"Oh, Ron," Hermione said softly. "I know…I know…shh…it's going to be alright…"

"Look at me," Ron said sadly. "I'm such a wreck. I can't – it's like, I'm alright sometimes, and sometimes it's just…too much, y'know? I just – I go in here, Ginny's room, and remember all those little things she did, like naming my stupid owl Pigwidgeon…trying to blackmail me…and Charlie and his fascination with dragons, he wanted mum to get him one when he was smaller, you know? And he threw such a fit, too, when he found out it wasn't possible…" he gave half a sob and a laugh.

"I get that too," Hermione said. "We all do. It's alright, it's normal, you know. You're just grieving. It's good to grieve. And it'll get better – you'll learn to deal with it…"

Harry moved to leave Ron and Hermione alone. He shouldn't intrude. The mention of his name caused him to stay, though.

"Harry seems to be doing alright," Ron had said.

Harry could practically hear Hermione's frown as she answered. "Actually, I don't think Harry's dealing with all this at all."

Harry felt anger at her. Who was she to make judgement on whether or not he was grieving? Those deaths had practically torn him up, especially Ginny's – how dare she say he wasn't dealing? Best friend or no, she had no right…

"He just doesn't talk about it at all," Hermione continued. "He avoids the subject every time it comes up, excuses himself any time we start…"

"Maybe he just doesn't want to talk about it," Ron pointed out. "People have different ways of grieving, maybe this is just Harry's way."

"I can understand _that_," Hermione answered. "But – Ron, you haven't seen him. He avoids the subject like the plague. Just mention Ginny in front of him and he either changes the subject or excuses himself. He's not _grieving_. I think that even when he's alone he doesn't allow himself to think about it…"

Harry left, ignoring the urge to burst in through the door and yell at Hermione that yes, of course he was grieving, was she mad? How could he not be grieving? What was this awful pain in his chest, then, if he wasn't grieving?

But that was the only extent to which he let his feelings and thoughts go, didn't it? He'd never explored deeper, he'd always shut it out and tried to think of other things, _anything_ but Ginny and the fact that he was never going to see her again…her and Charlie…

_No, stop it…_

There, he was trying not to think again. Was Hermione right? Was he just not dealing?

He was afraid, he realised. Afraid that if he started to deal, to think and ponder on it, a terrible wave of sadness and pain would engulf him. He didn't want that. He didn't want to feel the pain. He just…he just wanted Ginny and Charlie back.

Harry reached Ron's room and threw himself onto the bed, lying facedown on the pillows. So maybe he wasn't dealing. Was it that bad?

_Yes_, a voice in his head told him. _Hermione's right. You need to grieve. It'll hurt, but it'll be better for you in the end._

He exhaled and turned over in the bed until he was facing the ceiling. Ron's Chudley Cannon posters stared down at him. He remembered that Ginny's Quidditch team was the Falmouth Falcons. He'd never hear Ron and his sister arguing about Quidditch anymore, would he?

Ginny and Charlie…he'd never known Charlie very well, but he'd liked him very much anyway. And Ginny…she was the most beautiful person he had ever met, not just because she was pretty but because of who she was inside. Ginny, who was so caring and understanding, who'd been courageous enough to talk him down when he was angry and unreasonable.

Harry closed his eyes. Thinking about her made his chest ache more. He missed her so much. Her smell, her laugh, her eyes, her kisses…memories of her flooded through his mind, making him want to laugh and cry out in despair at the same time. Unbidden, the tears came. He didn't wipe them away.

He'd had so little time with Ginny. And now that she was gone, Harry realised, these memories, the ones that were filling him with so much pain and sadness were really all he had left to hold onto. They hurt, but now that he'd allowed the memories to come forth he didn't want to banish them away anymore. At least he could still see Ginny in his mind, even if she wasn't physically there.

_Ginny, Ginny_…the Chudley Cannon posters could no longer be made out. The ache in his heart grew, if possible, even stronger. Harry let out a ragged sob and scrunched up the bedcovers beneath him. The grief overtook him in waves, such sadness and sorrow that he had to take great gulping gasps of air.

He didn't hear the door open, but he held on tightly to the warm arms that enveloped him, that pulled him up and embraced him tightly, comfortingly. And he continued sobbing, into Hermione's shoulder, vision after vision of that beautiful redhead passing by, the pain as strong and fresh as the day he'd seen her die.

He was finally grieving.

* * *

_-END OF CHAPTER 6-_

* * *

**A/N: Okay I have to say right now that this was one of the hardest chapters I had to write. I've never written about grief before, and I wasn't sure if I portrayed anything well in there, especially Harry. So, concrit would be very very much appreciated.**

**Oh, and the next chapter will probably be longer, but may take a while. **


	8. Chapter 7: Emotions

**A/N: I am **_**so**_** sorry for taking so long on this. Both me and my beta have been busy, thus the lateness – if that's any excuse! Hopefully the oneshot and twoshot I've posted made up a bit for hearing nothing about this story (if you've seen them, that is)! If you haven't read them yet, well, they can occupy your time till chapter 8 is out (yes, shameless self-plugging, I know. Shame on me).**

**Thank you so much for the reviews and support, and to my beta as well. On with the story!**

**Chapter 7: Emotions **

Draco was allowed out of the hospital the next day. His aunt and uncle had come early to see him, but he suggested rather coldly that they visit Tonks while the Healers cleared him. He'd join them in her ward later, he told them. He still didn't feel like talking to them.

He'd been up most of the night, just lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. Various thoughts had run through his head at various times of the night. Sometimes he dozed off, but soon he'd be awake and staring at the wall again.

He just felt _angry_, at everything. It wasn't fair that his mother had been taken away from him, after not having seen her for over a year. It wasn't fair to make him so excited about seeing her again, just to find her _dead_…he scowled. And why had she killed herself, anyway? Wasn't his own mother stronger than that?

He shook his head. _Don't you think like that, Draco Malfoy_. He couldn't blame her. How could he think such a thing? She'd thought her only son was dead, for Merlin's sake! He knew how much he'd meant to his mother…and with his father locked up in Azkaban for life (another scowl adorned his features) it was no wonder she'd taken the path she had.

If only she'd known he was still alive. _Stupid owl_, he thought. _I'm never trusting owl post again_. That letter should have reached her. If he could, he'd have strangled the stupid owl that was supposed to have delivered it.

And wasn't the Order of the Phoenix supposed to be brilliant? Shouldn't they have known about that memorial service? _They should have known_, Draco thought angrily. _They should have allowed me to see her sooner. Safety precaution, my ass. If they can fight Death Eaters led by the Dark Lord himself, they can very well protect me when he's gone…_

All through the night Draco stewed, blaming different parties one after another for his mother's death. Voldemort, for starting the whole stupid campaign in the first place. His father, for following the Dark Lord and getting Draco stuck in it. Dumbledore, even, for knowing that Draco had been trying to kill him all during sixth year, and yet had not done anything more substantial to stop him than have Snape try and talk to him.

Deep inside, though, was the incredible sadness and bitterness he felt for knowing that he had been the source of his mother's pain. She'd thought him dead. Yet he had been alive, safe, living reasonably comfortably even. The cruelty of having been alive all this time, waiting for the right time to see her, and his mother believing him dead and killing herself, made him want to scream.

Now he was going to leave the hospital. There'd be the funeral to attend to in a few days time. Draco didn't know if he'd be able to handle it. His father was in Azkaban; he'd be the one to take on the responsibility, now. In fact, he didn't even know how to go about arranging a funeral. He certainly never thought he'd be doing it so soon.

Draco sighed and looked into the mirror before he left. His face was still a little paler than usual, and there were faint circles around his eyes. His eyes themselves were rather red; he'd cried a bit during that sleepless night, as well. He used his wand to make sure his hair fell neatly, straightened his robes, set his jaw, and left. He really didn't want to socialise with anyone at the moment, but he was living with his aunt and uncle, so he had to.

Tonks tried to hug him as he came close to her bed, but he stiffly said, "No, I'm fine."

"Alright, well, I'm here if you need anything," Tonks told him gently.

"Yeah, ok." And Draco looked expectantly at his aunt and uncle. "Shall we go now, then?"

"Leaving so fast?" Tonks started up, looking at Draco in surprise.

"I really just want to get back," Draco said. "Shall we?" He looked at Aunt Andy and Uncle Ted again, failing to see Tonks' disappointed and hurt look. Ted opened his mouth and Draco continued, "I'm rather tired. I didn't get much sleep last night."

"All right," Ted said, nodding. "Dear, we'll visit you again later…"

Draco didn't talk much when he got home. He locked himself in his bedroom and flung himself onto the bed. He always got the raw end of the deal, didn't he? He'd survived the war, been on the winning side, yet there was nothing to celebrate. His friends probably wouldn't want to speak to him. His father was in Azkaban. His mother had bloody _killed herself…_

_Mother_. He loved his mother, even though he didn't usually show it. She, too, had never been too affectionate with him, but it never bothered him. He'd never particularly liked hugs. It was so unfair that she was gone…at least with Father he could still visit him in Azkaban. Now he'd never hear his mother's voice or see her smile or get annoyed at her attempts to "clean out" his wardrobe…

Draco drifted off to sleep, tired, memories of his mother playing in his head. One of the memories slipped into his dreams, and he was suddenly helping his mother brew a potion. Butterflies were emerging from the cauldron, which Draco was sure wasn't supposed to happen. They were big and bright and colourful, with wings that dropped glittery powder as they flapped. His mother looked pleased and very pretty then, he thought. She was the most beautiful person he knew…he laughed in her presence. He loved doing things with her.

The room grew dark for a moment and the butterflies turned into bats, great big ones that screeched loudly (though Draco was sure he shouldn't be able to hear bats, as well). His mother screamed. They seemed to be attacking _her_.

Draco pulled out his wand and shouted a spell, but all that came out was a little fizzle. He swore, flung his wand away and lunged into the bats, intending to fend them off his mother with only his hands. Two of them dove at him and he yelled, falling back. He had to fight them off. He had to save his mother!

The bats disappeared abruptly, leaving him fighting the air. And there was his mother, looking unharmed. Relief flooded through him and he ran to her – _wham!_ – he stepped back, almost stumbled, seeing black spots in front of his eyes.

He reached out a hand, felt something cold and smooth in front of him.

A glass box.

A cold feeling crept into his heart. He banged on the glass, shouting, but it appeared his mother couldn't hear him. She couldn't even see him. And she was calling out for him…he could hear her…

Draco turned away, intending to fling something into the glass to shatter it, but the room was now empty. Even his wand was missing. He turned back to his mother in despair. She was sitting forlornly on the ground, head buried in her arms, crying so helplessly that his heart broke just looking at her.

Then he was sinking through the ground…it was as if he were sinking through some black mist…and then he was back in the Manor, and Bauble was in front of him, holding a small red vial with the Malfoy crest on it.

"Bauble, where's Mother?" Draco demanded. The house elves knew everything; they'd know where his mother was.

The elf just looked at him. "Why, she's dead, young master. You killed her."

Draco saw red. "You filthy liar, you…"

"Yes, yes, master Draco kills her, he did!" The elf was nodding adamantly now. "Master Draco caused his own mother to suffer, and now she's _dead_!" Bauble waved the vial in front of him. "Draco's a murderer, he is!"

"Shut up!" Draco roared.

That was when his mother appeared, out of nowhere, lying on her bed and looking deathly pale. _That's how you found her…lying dead on the bed…_

Draco stopped beside her, sorrow and pain coursing through him. He'd just seen her alive…she couldn't be dead…but, no, he'd left her, didn't he? And she was cold, much too cold to be alive…

Bauble was still shouting at him, and Draco yelled for the elf to shut up. He shook his mother and just as he expected, there was no response. He screamed for her to wake up, and as he did so he awoke, shaking, blankets twisted around him, his face wet with tears.

* * *

Draco spent the next few days by himself, avoiding his aunt and uncle and poring over some potions books. There were some particularly gruesome ones that kept him occupied for a bit as he imagined feeding them to Harry Potter. Sure, the stupid git had saved the world from the Dark Lord, but that didn't make him any less of a git, no matter what Tonks had to say about it…

Tonks was back in the house, too. She'd recovered very well and was now her usual bubbly self. She was out of the house for most of the day, busy with her Auror duties. At night, she either spent them with Draco and her parents or with Remus Lupin. Draco was happy about that; he didn't really want to talk to Tonks, either.

He'd seen his mother again the day after he was released from St. Mungo's. She looked about the same: deathly pale, eyes closed. Only this time he couldn't pretend that she was sleeping. He couldn't explain it. There just wasn't any life left in her and it showed. He'd cried a bit, then.

Funeral arrangements kept him occupied during those few days as well. It had to be attended by purebloods, he knew. He had to keep to the Black and Malfoy decorum. It wasn't hard; he'd been brought up in it, after all. And so he planned, casting his aunt and uncle withering looks when they offered to help him.

There were very few invitations to give out. Most of their family friends were either dead, in Azkaban, or in hiding and fleeing for their lives. _Trust my family to choose the losing side of the war_, Draco thought sardonically as he finished his stylised 'P'.

They'd never thought of it as the losing side before, though, had they? For most of his life he'd heard the words "stronger side" and "right way to go about ridding the world of Mudbloods".

"We'll triumph, Draco," his father had told him, eyes glittering. "We've finally got a Slytherin descendant who knows what he's doing. And those Mudbloods, those weaklings…why, by the end of the war, even _they'll_ be ashamed to call themselves witches and wizards!"

Draco shook his head and finished writing down "Parkinsons". _How very wrong you were, Father._

Draco frowned. Lucius Malfoy might have been wrong about it, but he was still his father, after all. If there was one thing his father had taught him, it was that family was important – even to his mother, it had been…well, everything. And with his mother gone, his father was all he had left, even if he had led them on this wrong path in life.

_I've got to go and visit him_, Draco decided. _Even though I've gone against everything he's taught me…even though I've stayed with Aunt Andy and defied the Dark Lord…I'm the only one left. I've got to go and see him._

Father would forgive him, he thought. He would still have his family, as screwed up as the whole situation was.

* * *

Narcissa Malfoy's last days had not been happy – but then again, she hadn't been happy for a long time. Draco had been right in thinking that family was everything to his mother. She hated the fact that her husband was in Azkaban for life. The thought of him in a cell alone was enough to make her want to curl up and never meet the world again.

And having her son missing for a year had her waking up each morning to a cold feeling in her heart. Snape had come many times during that year, to tell her that her son was safe, and that she, too, could seek that same safety and see him again. But Narcissa was by nature a very suspicious person, and she thought these words were lies.

"I don't know what game you're playing at, Severus, but even the Dark Lord has no idea where my son is," she'd told him each time, before Snape had given up and Obliviated her mind.

She had buried Draco at last, in a ceremony marred by the presence of a Muggleborn. Lucius had been furious when he'd read the letter she sent him. "That idiot school," he'd reportedly snarled, and become so violent that the guards had to actually Stun him and bind him for a while.

Then the letter had come. Written in her beloved son's writing, telling her that he was alive and well, and had been in hiding with her sister for the entire year…she hadn't believed it. Her son could not be alive; the Order spoken of in the letter would not have accommodated him. He was a Malfoy, and he'd tried to kill Dumbledore. There was no way that they would have helped him.

The letter had made her snap. She'd been living in misery, mourning a son whose body she would probably never find, and the loss of a husband she would probably never see again, and who was probably becoming as gaunt as her cousin Sirius had looked in that Azkaban poster. Lucius might as well be dead. The letter had been too much. Someone was making fun of her…why, she had no idea.

Her family had many enemies. In her mind, any one of them could have chosen to torment her this way. It never occurred to her that the Order founded by Albus Dumbledore might have taken her son in, chosen to protect him despite his family name, despite what Voldemort had ordered him to do. In her circle, things like that just didn't happen. Forgiveness was something hard to come by, and attempting to kill a prominent member of the circle was unforgivable. The Order would never forgive Draco's actions. And therefore, the Order would not have protected her son.

The letter was false.

And she had nothing else to live for.

Lucius would understand. He had known the woman he'd married, had known how much she could take. Her letter, when it arrived, did not surprise him much.

_Lucius,_

_My darling. Forgive me. I cannot watch you diminish before my eyes, and I cannot bear these days without hope. I love you, and am with you always._

_Yours, forever,  
Narcissa._

* * *

_- END OF CHAPTER 7 - _

* * *

**A/N: I feel so bad now, because after such a long wait I've delivered a chapter that isn't even that long. However, the next one is a lot more interesting, and longer, I should think. Anyway, here's what's in store: A surprise from the Ministry, the funeral and, well, does Azkaban even allow visitors…?**

**Reviews are very welcome, of course, so please do review! Constructive criticism is also great, I'm looking for ways to improve all the time.**


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